by Diane Duane
Captain James T. Kirk stood in the coruscating glow of the transporter beam, dreading what he would see as soon as he materialized on the world called Patelva. Yesterday theEnterprise had been summoned to the colony world that had been decimated by a raid. The captain had made one quick reconnaissance to the planet, then returned, sickened, to his ship, leaving Dr. McCoy and his medical staff to their grim work of trying to save as many of the pitifully wounded survivors as they could.
As the transporter beam faded around him, Kirk could hear the sounds of the wounded. The beam-down coordinates were in the center of a group of hastily thrown-up bubbletents, so, unlike yesterday, he was not surrounded by shattered and torn bodies…which was a relief. But the sounds were bad enough.
Medical personnel scurried to and fro, racing frantically to beat their ancient enemy. In a distant field, filled with crops that would never be harvested now, security personnel stoically attended to the hideous work of disposing of the corpses.
“Captain…” Kirk turned away from the grim scene to find his first officer at his elbow. “I have completed my interviews with the few uninjured survivors I could locate. Their reports all concur: Klingons did this.”
The captain gazed around him, and sighed. There hadn’t been much doubt about who the assailants were—the patterns were all there. “I know,” he said. “I just finished speaking to Chancellor Azetbur on subspace communications. She confirmed that their sensors have picked up a number of Klingon vessels crossing the Neutral Zone lately, but swore to me on her father’s honor that none of them has been authorized to do so by her government.”
“More renegades,” Spock said, his normally expressionless features touched with sadness. “Chang has set a precedent, I fear.”
“I’m afraid that Azetbur’s going to go down, Spock,” Kirk said. “Everything looked so hopeful last month at Khitomer, but now…” He shrugged slightly. “The media back on Earth are having a field day with these renegade raids. Many of the delegates to the Security Council are calling for Ra-ghoratrei to withdraw his support of Azetbur’s government.”
“I know. And without the support of the Federation, Azetbur has little chance to remain in power.”
“The chancellor is the Empire’s only hope for survival, Spock!” Kirk said wearily. “If I can see that, so can others.”
The Vulcan nodded, his dark eyes bleak. He started to comment, but before he could do so, a familiar voice made both officers turn.
“What’s the news on the Federation hospital ship?” Dr. Leonard McCoy demanded, coming up from behind the two officers. The chief surgeon’s medical tunic was splashed and streaked with drying blood and even less pleasant substances, and his blue eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. “Dammit, Jim, my people are ready to drop, and I can’t spare a one of ’em for a break. We’ve got to get some relief!”
“The ship’s on its way, Bones,” Kirk was quick to assure the medical officer. “ETA is thirty-six hours from now.”
“Damn!” McCoy growled; then he sighed. “Can you at least beam down some more security people? They’re not trained, but they can help clean up and make sandwiches for the staff.”
Kirk nodded and, taking out his communicator, quickly gave the order. McCoy busied himself dispatching the security teams to where they were most needed, then turned back to regard his friends wearily. “Thanks, Jim. This is one helluva mess…. ”
“I know, Bones.”
“Who did it?” McCoy demanded, staring out across the jury-rigged medical compound. “As if I didn’t already know from the disrupter patterns on the bodies.”
“Klingons, Doctor,” Spock said. “But Chancellor Azetbur has stated that they were renegades, not governmentally sanctioned troops.”
“I suppose so,” the doctor said, rubbing a hand over his face, leaving smears across his forehead. “Damn, but what I’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours almost makes me regret spending the past month studying Klingon anatomy and medical procedures.”
“The Empire is in chaos, Bones,” Kirk said. “Any time you get a situation like this, you find terrorism on the rise. Any time you try paring down a huge standing army, you get soldiers that don’t want to give up war.”
“Especially considering that war has been the main focus of the Klingon culture for several thousand years,” Spock said, quietly. “If the—” The Vulcan broke off as his communicator beeped. “Spock here,” he said crisply.
“Mr. Spock, I’m receiving a Priority One personal message for you, sir,” Commander Uhura’s voice reported. “It’s from your father.”
“Relay it on screen, please, Commander.”
Kirk tensed as he watched the Vulcan scan the message on the tiny camp computer screen, noting the way his friend’s eyes narrowed and the skin over his jaw tightened. When Spock looked up, he took a step forward and touched his friend’s arm lightly with his fingertips. “What is it, Spock?”
The Vulcan took a deep breath. “It is my mother, Jim. I just received a message from my father, saying that she is seriously ill.” He paused, then seemed to force the words out, as though speaking them caused him pain. “Actually, Sarek used the word ‘terminally’ ill.”
Kirk had lost his own mother a few years ago…Spock’s words brought back the grief of those days all too vividly.
“Spock, does it say what’s wrong?” McCoy asked, his blue eyes filled with concern.
“She has contracted a blood disease.” Spock’s normally even tones were strained. “Reyerson’s disease is somewhat rare. It is extremely serious, especially to the very old or the very young. My mother,” the Vulcan finished bleakly, “is in her nineties.”
Kirk’s mother, Winona, had been in her late eighties at the time of her death. In the twenty-third century the human life span was longer on the average than it had ever been, but only ten percent of the population lived for a century or more. Kirk drew a deep breath. “Go home,” he ordered. “Go now. Take the shuttlecraft to Starbase Eleven. You can get a transport from there, and reach Vulcan in five days,” he said.
Spock hesitated, glanced around him. “But we are on a mission…my duty is to my ship…”
“Dammit, Spock, this is amedical mission,” McCoy said. “If you’ve got a medical degree it’s news to me. Go. We don’t need you here. Your mother does.”
The Vulcan finally nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Captain. I will depart immediately.”
Moments later, Kirk and McCoy watched the last flicker of maroon vanish in the transporter beam, and knew the Vulcan was on his way.
“Jim, this is terrible,” McCoy said, his eyes shadowed. “We’ve known the Lady Amanda for so long…and now we’re all going to lose her? It’s…not fair.”
“How many times have you said that when you’re confronted with death, Bones?” Kirk asked.
McCoy gave him a grim smile. “At least ninety-five percent of the time, Jim. But that doesn’t keep me from feeling it again, each time.”
“After that hospital ship relieves us here,” Kirk said, “we’re heading for Vulcan.”
McCoy nodded. “Good. But how are you going to justify a trip to Vulcan with Starfleet Command?”
“Scotty has performed his usual miracle patching up the ship after Chang used us for a skeet target,” Kirk replied, “but he told me yesterday that he’s completed all the repairs he can, working on the ship from the inside out. He said we’d have to put into spacedock for him to finish with the structural repairs and pressure checks. Vulcan has an excellent spacedock.”
McCoy nodded, then wearily straightened his back. “No rest for the wicked,” he said. “I’ve got a patient to check on.”
Kirk looked at him. “Could you use one more pair of unskilled hands, Bones?”
“You bet,” the doctor said. “C’mon, andI’ll orderyou around for a change…. ”
Together, they headed for the nearest bubbletent.
“Enough, Peter, enough!” Lisa Tennant insisted, getting out of the o
ld-fashioned hard-backed chair and stretching her spine. “You’re worse than Rosa. I never thought I’d find anyone who could work as hard as she did. How about some coffee?”
Peter nodded. “Sure, Lisa. Coffee’s fine.” He could use a cup right now. It was nearly midnight and because of the time he’d spent here, he’d have to pull an all-nighter to cram for his exam tomorrow. He rubbed his face tiredly. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. Staying up all night studying would take its toll…and what did he have to show for it?
He’d been coming to this dingy basement room nearly every day since that Saturday. That first day, he’d thought that he’d be able to garner enough information to take to Starfleet Security once he got into the KEHL files. But that Saturday, he never got near the computers. Instead, he’d ended up helping Lisa with the technicalities of bailing out most of the demonstrators.
He’d been right about her, too. Shewas interested in him, and kept him close by her side most of the time, flirting lightly, never saying or doing anything too forward, too aggressive. He played along in the same vein, waiting and hoping to get access to their computers. When that didn’t happen, he’d ended up coming back the second night, and the third. Last night, he’d finally gotten into the machines, but the only thing she’d let him work on was a tedious reworking of the data structures, which told him little.
He promised himself that tonight was the very last time he’d come here. If he didn’t get any information valuable enough to bring to Starfleet Security, he’d forget his brief sojourn into the world of cloak-and-dagger and force himself to focus on the really important matters in his life.
Like theKobayashi Maru.
Peter groaned at the very thought of that test, only a little more than a week away. Just today, one of his friends had confided that the odds against him were mounting steadily. Peter wasn’t surprised. If he had been a betting man he’d have bet against himself, too. Was he studying the old scenarios to see how others handled them? Was he reading up on the theory behind the test itself, to get a handle on what the new scenario might require of him? No, he was hanging around a subversive organization, flirting with its leader, and coming up with nothing for all his efforts.
A cup of steaming coffee suddenly appeared by his elbow, along with a sandwich. “You’ve got to be starving,” Lisa said quietly, sitting beside him. “You’ve been working steadily since you got here. I’m afraid I haven’t been taking very good care of you.”
“I didn’t think that was your job,” he replied. “As your impromptu assistant, I thought it was my role to take care of you.”
She brushed against him, and the faint scent of her perfume made his nostrils twitch with the faintly musky, exotic odor. In the few days he’d been associating with her, he’d found her an enigmatic person. She was bright, sensitive, and quite intellectual. In many ways she was an intriguing, exciting woman, not the kind of person to spout the bigoted, paranoid nonsense she obviously believed wholeheartedly.
He thought more clearly when she wasn’t quite so close to him. Finishing his sandwich, he eased out of the chair and wandered around her small, spare office. Curiously, he browsed the shelf of real-paper books she had prominently displayed.
There was a mint-condition volume ofWuthering Heights, a slightly battered edition ofHave Spacesuit, Will Travel, a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry, and…He paused, staring at a slim volume perched neatly between the others.The Diary of Anne Frank.
“It’s a nice collection,” Peter said softly. “Do you read them?” Unlike his Uncle Jim, many collectors did not.
Lisa nodded proudly, coming to stand beside him. “I don’t read the volumes themselves, of course—they’re much too fragile. But every book I buy, I look it up in the library files and read it.”
“That’s great,” Peter said, his voice low. He tried to imagine how she could’ve ever read the words of Anne Frank and still become so involved with the KEHL. “It’s nice to meet someone who appreciates books.”
She gave him a smile, and a spark of warmth touched her huge, obsidian eyes. “Are you a collector, too?”
“Not exactly,” Peter admitted. “But my uncle is, and I enjoy his books.” Peter hesitated, then bit the bullet. “You know, I’ve never gotten the chance to ask how you got so involved with the KEHL.”
Lisa showed no sign of self-consciousness as she replied, “I haven’t been a member that long, Peter. Just a few months. It’s funny…I’m a sociology student, and I know something about how groups like this start…. Usually there’s one charismatic individual—like Induna—who founds such a group, and he or she finds followers along the way, people who think along the same lines. But the KEHL, at least here in San Francisco, wasn’t like that at all.” She glanced at him, her black eyes earnest. “Which leads me to believe that we were just destined to be—that it was time for us to rise and make our voices heard.”
“Have you always disliked aliens? Particularly Vulcans?” Peter was careful to keep his tone one of polite, if casual, interest.
She frowned a little as she thought. “It’s funny, Peter. Up until a few months ago, I scarcely ever gave the matter much thought. I’d never known an alien personally, and only met a few as casual acquaintances. I’m from a little town in Indiana, and we don’t get many outsiders—human ones, much less extraterrestrials. I guess it was just a subconscious decision I made back in August…that humans evolved on Earth, so it’s our planet, and they don’t have any place here.”
“Do you think Earth should stay in the Federation?”
“I don’t know…” She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating. “Since Earth is the most powerful planet in the Federation, with only the Vulcans capable of posing a serious challenge to us, I suppose we shouldn’t dissolve the Federation until the Klingons and Romulans have been dealt with. As long as we can get the Vulcans out, that is.”
Peter was having a difficult time staying civil. “Why?” he asked, struggling to keep the edge out of his voice.
She faced him, holding his gaze with her own intense one. “Do you know anything about Vulcan history?”
“A little,” Peter said cautiously.
“Let me show you something.” She walked back to the computer terminal and selected a computer tape, then plugged it in.
As Peter seated himself in front of the screen, images coalesced in front of him. The predominant one was an image of the Plains of Gol, a scene familiar to anyone who watched popular media entertainment. Splashed across the desolate scene were the wordsThe True History of Vulcan. He groaned inwardly. Propaganda films were not among his personal favorites.
“Are you aware that the Vulcans fought major wars on their planet several thousand years ago?” Lisa asked, as the film moved forward, illustrating her question with vivid, computer-generated film sequences that seemed shockingly real. “Wars that make Earth’s World Wars and the Eugenics War look like skirmishes by comparison?”
“I think I remember reading something to that effect,” he mumbled.
“Well,” Lisa leaned forward and murmured confidentially, “they still have the weapons from those wars, stockpiled in secret installations. Weapons that could turn Earth into a smoking cinder in a matter of minutes.”
As the images on the film confirmed her wild allegations, Peter’s mouth dropped open, and he didn’t have to feign astonishment.Where in hell did she get that idea? They had to have faked these images! Vulcan has no weapons except defensive ones—and hasn’t for four thousand years! “You’re kidding!” he managed, feebly. “Where did you find out about that?”
She shook her head. “Everyone in the KEHL knows. We can’t get the Terran government to admit it, but it’s true.”
“Wow,” was all Peter could say. “That’s hard to believe.”
“You think that’s bad, you haven’t heard anything, yet,” Lisa said. She touched the computer controls and changed the scene from massive stockpiles of terrifying weapons to another, more fantastic landscape.
There was a towering cathedral-like edifice in a searing desert. Inside were cavernous, smoky, dimly lit rooms packed with peculiar, glowing orbs, pulsating as if with a mysterious force.
“The Vulcans are in control of ancient Vulcan…personalities, I guess you’d call them,” Lisa said. “Spirits without bodies. They’re calledkatras, and they have hundreds of thousands of them stored up, just waiting to turn them loose to possess the people on Earth. Unless we can stop them, they’ll conquer us without a shot being fired!”
This last was almost too much for Peter. He knew he had to cajole her along, try to learn more, but all he wanted was to escape listening to such noxious paranoid fantasies.
“But don’t worry,” she consoled him, misinterpreting his expression. She placed a warm hand on his arm. “We’re on to them now. And our membership is growing, bringing in new committed people—people like yourself. Our voices will be heard.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “What made you join up?”
“Self-preservation,” he said, letting her take it any way she wanted to. “But I…had no idea…things were so bad…. ” Her bizarre accusations merely gave him more incentive to accomplish the task he’d come here to do. “Lisa, you told me you needed my help in a special task. Something about a Vulcan conspiracy…?”
She nodded. “Boy, you’re inexhaustible! I wasn’t going to bring it up tonight, but…” She glanced through a number of tapes then pulled one up. “We’ve found information that’s coming straight out of the Vulcan consulate that will shatter this whole holier-than-thou sham the Vulcans have set up. This information willprove that Vulcans are using their telepathy to influence powerful members of the Federation—perhaps even the president himself!”
Peter’s eyes locked on the small tape. In his pocket sat blank cassettes, enough memory to copy anything he should find of value here, but so far, nothing seemed significant. “How can I help with that?”
“Needless to say, this information was very difficult to come by,” she told him. “A lot of it has been lost in the transference—special codes, significant schedules. Since you’re a data-retrieval technician, I thought…”
